POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:22 pm

by admin

The Last Limousine, by Charles Carreon

(For Trungpa Rinpoche and his crazy entourage)

We humans be sum crazy muthafuckas as a rap lingo slinga' might say. Bad ass muthafuckas always gonna be that way. Play that fuckin music till you can't even hardly think, Make you wanna drown yourself in that cool chickie's drink Being just a home boy on this dedicated ground Walkin' what your talkin' is rarer than it sounds Making lessons out of misery And poems out of rhymes Making love with everybody And yourself another time.

Some think that white boys can never be that way, And others wanna listen to what Tarantino say, Some think that Elvis was the Antichrist Some think Manhattan is a drink with ice But you can see it happen Right in your home town Earn your money down on Main Street And give it to a clown Kiss your baby in the morning And tuck her in at night But if you're half the man your father was You'll never do it right

Now heaven's never been found But people say they've been Or know someone who knew someone Who heard it from a friend But hell's much more familiar, We have it here on earth We make it for each other With each successive birth Impress it on our children Like sacrificial lambs Burn our friends in hell With smiles on our faces Watching as the fire Consumes the final traces.

Did he need a bodyguard, A retinue of slaves? Did he need a hand job That everybody gave? Did he need a limousine To take him to the grave?

With deepest respect for the wildest lama, One Last Molotov!

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:25 pm

by admin

The Lemming National Anthem, by Charles Carreon

All hail the One-Party System, So well-organized that no one can doubt it’s The best, most logical system that’s ever been Devised by the smartest brightest guys.

All hail the One-Party Leader, The man with the robotic sighs, With handlers, and helpers and programmed Responses that don’t need to be scrutinized.

All hail the One-Party Loser, The man who ran as one a-terrorized; His voters felt like dopes, when he scuttled all their votes And fell in with the One-Party Line.

All hail the Great Corporate Leaders, Who have made the world their own swimming pool Filled with toxic sewage and cool designer luggage -- You know that Paris Hilton is no fool.

All hail the Great Wall Street Bankers, Making plans to get and spend it all, Sending freight trains stuffed with loot to their friends In big black boots, who will send them back an even bigger haul.

All hail the Great Iraqi Warriors Who staunchly defend their foreign sands, Who give us names for terrorists, and target practice for our kids, And help our friends the Saudis keep clean hands.

All hail the Great Attorney General, The baddest goddamn Mexican of all; He don’t need no stinking badge, cause torture’s not that bad, And he’ll explain it in that room right down the hall.

All hail the Free Press that’s freely Publishing nothing at all, but the latest profile shot That proves that Condoleezza’s hot Which just proves nothing at all.

All hail the Fake Politicians Who are wondering who to sell out today. If you haven’t got a lobbyist then you’re not on their Santa’s list, And won’t you kindly just go away?

All hail the Great Entertainers, Who thank heavens have nothing to say, Made of silicone and methadone, their voices big as megaphones Keep all unpleasant news so far away.

All hail the Brave Media Lawyers Who sue children and ancients one and all, Since copyright is God, it doesn’t seem so odd That piracy should cause the nation’s fall.

All hail the One-Party Voters, Who didn’t even really have to vote, We knew that we could count on them, and figured all those Stray votes in, and things came out just like we knew they would.

So all hail the Great Manipulators, Who turned us to a land of pimps and whores Who taught our kids to kill, to do it with a will To the sound of a heavy metal score.

And all hail the Holy Excuse Makers Who sell insurance from the Great Big Man Who hawk incense and repentance and talk in great Big sentences about how moral folks must take a stand.

‘Cause God is a lemming, And He made us in his image, of this there is no room For reasonable doubt -- So when you see that cliff a looming Just get your feet a pumping – you always knew that this was your way out.

SONG

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:29 pm

by admin

The Old Ve-To, by Charles Carreon

Well you say You're the CongressWhatever that meansWe'll ask GonzalesWhen he's done eatin' beansYou gave me a billWith time limits in itSo I'll veto that shitAnd send it back to the SenateAnd don't you step on my Old VetoYou can do anything,But don't forget about my Old Veto.

Well I done decidedYou know that's itThe troops are gonna stayWhere I sayThe chips are gonna fallWherever they mayI'll raise the stakes higher'Cause that's how I playBut don't 'yaForget my Old VetoYou can enact what you wantI'll just give it the Old Veto.

Well they say the nation'sTurning blue againI'll prove that falseWith a stroke of my penThere is no powerLike the one to say noSo loot, motherfuckers, now go go goWe got 'em with the Old VetoThey can't do a damn thingWhen I give them the Old Veto.

Well, I've blown Iraq But I won't admit itI'm after IranAnd I just won't quit itJust try and stop meI'm on the runThe light is redThat means fun, fun, funSo watch out, I'll use the Old VetoI'll run you down in the streetWith my Old Veto

Yeah, the ConstitutionIs a mighty fine thingAt least for me,For you it stinks'Cause I'm the ChiefI'm at the topI keep the buck movin'So it never stopsAnd when I lose I use the Old Veto.I just tell 'em where to stuff itAnd hit 'em with the Old Veto.Yeah, they'll never know what hit 'emWhen I hit 'em with the Old Veto.

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:32 pm

by admin

The Oracle, by Charles Carreon (14 years old)

Outside Woolworth's and the A & P Shrieking descriptions of damnation Stands a demented soldier of Christ Gnarled hands and twisted mind Rooted in his grimy book He teaches only screamable truth His hands flay the air and his voice Drones on Yet his transient flock listens Listens and answers Answers with a silent, endless scream.

(1969)

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:32 pm

by admin

The People, by Charles Carreon

We are the changing-lanes people,the impatient-waiting-on the on-ramp peoplethe can't-stand-to-be-stuck behind-a-truck people.We are the go-up-high-in-the-elevator people,the live-long-in-a-gymnasium-on-the-exercycle people,the cash-your-check in the line at the bank people.

We are the ant people, the build-their-hives above the ground people,The run-their-carriages on road-of-stone people,The count-their-dollars in the millions people,The deck-their-wives with splendid clothing people,The raise-their-young like spoiled princes people.

We are the television people,The wash-their-clothes-with Biz people,The shine-their-cars with fancy wax people,The comb-their-hair with gleaming mousse people.

We are the inch-deep-roots people,The insubstantial-as-the-grass people,The people without real names or memories.We are the reckless people, the foolish people,The coming-and-going people,The crying-like-desolated ghosts people.We are the people who try to sing themselves to sleep,But know no magic songs,The people who line up to die,And waken every morning asking why.

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:34 pm

by admin

The Point Is Nothing, by Charles Carreon

Now lift the knife,Now plunge it into the heart.

Lift the knife and plunge it in.

The point breaks in all barriersbecause it is nothing,penetrating all things.

At last it all dissolves in smoke,and then in air,leaving everything clearand unspoken.

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:36 pm

by admin

The Samba of Ignorance, by Charles Carreon

(Sing with Carlos-Montalban-pronunciation to a sinuous, sultry beat )

Not everybody likes to dance Afraid they are of sweet romance Preferring the samba of ignorance

Inside my rigid thought construction No mechanism of reproduction Just the boring noise of self destruction

Oh, samba of ignorance So sweet entwining passionless Of concrete make my party dress

The danger's clear my sweet companion No daring drives through passion's canyons Go straight to lovers leap and jump in

Oh, samba of ignorance I can afford it, a small expense, Free speech is just an extravagance

Oh, samba of ignorance Let's dance it now and take no chance Eliminate all happenstance

Oh, samba of ignorance I'm blinded in your twisting arms Safe from knowledge and from harm.

(This poem is really about Juan C. Aragon, creator of Buddhistboards.com, who operated under the false name of Bernardo Aragon during 2002-2003. Apologies to the true Bernardo Aragon, who probably is guilty of nothing more than knowing Juan.)

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:38 pm

by admin

The Starlit Tomb, by Charles Carreon

[When I was at H.H. Dudjom Rinpoche's birthday party in San Anselmo, California, in 1980, I fell asleep during the Yeshe Tsogyal empowerment. I dreamt that I was looking at a pure white field of crushed pearl dust, and on that white field, as if someone were creating a sand mandala, a red swastika began to appear, pure red like ground rubies. When I awoke, having lost my upright balance, I stuck out my hand sharply for support, which made a loud thump heard throughout the large hall. Everyone turned to look.]

One would like to think that the business of writing is ordinary, that the life of the printed page is simple and direct, but the truth is otherwise.

To be a child of language is to be a slave. A slave to the flow of discourse, to the flow of meaningful sound. Should you fail to heed its insistent flow, you will pay a price.

Nothing surprises one more than loneliness. Just when you think you are insular and self-sustaining, you discover that you are no one when there is nobody but you.

Still you have your words. You can wind meaningful sounds through your fibers of being and seek in meanings transitory and broken the substance of your ignorant knowledge.

The night breaks open like a stone to reveal a heart of emptiness, a tomb of designless design, as quintillions of stars cascade through without explanation or destiny.

You remain wandering in the distance of your precognitions. You persevere in the toiling sands. You wash your water and mind your thoughts. You break down into a tiny pile of ruby dust and frosting of diamonds.

POETRY

Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:39 pm

by admin

The Trojan Horse, by Charles Carreon

Trojan Horses come in all shapes and sizes But never in one the receiver despises. A pleasant appearance, desirable shape Still lead to misfortune Perhaps even rape

So beware sweet words Which soon turn to gall, For after fine flattery It's up 'gainst the wall

Cassandra will tell you The gift was quite bitter For only a fool could think Odysseus a quitter,

There had to be some better Explanation for why Greeks would sail away Abandoning their station

A trick it must be Thought the lovely princess But no one would listen So Troy suffered disaster, and the image that destroyed them Bears its name ever after.